


Don't Speak. I Know Just What You're... Actually, You Can Speak; Just Don't Say Anything.

by katiemariie



Category: Psych
Genre: Captivity, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-10
Updated: 2014-01-10
Packaged: 2018-01-08 05:15:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiemariie/pseuds/katiemariie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Come on. This was bound to happen. Two guys who've known each other as long as we have. A tense environment. Bulging muscles. It could have happened to anybody.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Speak. I Know Just What You're... Actually, You Can Speak; Just Don't Say Anything.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Westwardflight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Westwardflight/gifts).



Gus crosses his arms over his bare chest. “So... are we gonna talk about this?”

Shawn sighs, his eyes still closed. “Gus, I'm trying to sleep here.”

“How can you sleep when—?”

“I don't know. Isn't that what people normally do?”

“People normally do not do this!”

Shawn cracks his eyes open. “Come on. This was bound to happen. Two guys who've known each other as long as we have. A tense environment. Bulging muscles. It could have happened to anybody.”

“Somehow I don't think that excuse is gonna fly with Jesus.”

“Gus, don't be the icy center of a microwave burrito.”

Gus shakes his head. “I don't know what I'm gonna tell my parents.”

“Why would you tell your parents anything?”

“Because unlike you I love, cherish, and respect my parents.”

“Look, Gus, you know I'd never speak ill of Mr. and Mrs. Anton Aloysius Guster—”

“That's not my father's name.”

“—but if your parents are gonna fault you for getting a little physical with a guy—”

“A little?”

“Okay, a lot physical with a guy under these circumstances, then they can suck it. And besides your parents are gonna be so happy to see you're no longer a serial killer's captive that they won't even think about you—”

The door opens, bringing in the first light Shawn and Gus have seen in two days. Jules and Lassiter are in next with guns blazing.

“Hey,” Shawn says, waving his bound hands.

Lassiter surveys the blood-splattered walls, Gus' blood-soaked clothes, and the bloody pulp of a corpse on the ground. “What the hell happened?”

“Yeah,” Shawn draws out the syllable. “Gus kinda killed a guy.”

–

Cleared by the cops, released from the hospital, Gus glares at Shawn over his laptop. “So, we're really not gonna talk about this, are we?”

Shawn looks up from a gif of a Lhasa Apso aggressively barking at a pineapple. “What's there to talk about?”

“I killed someone, Shawn.”

“You did what you had to do. Okay, maybe slamming his head against the concrete until his skull caved in and his eye popped out was a _little_ excessive, but, hey, self-defense.”

Gus gets up from his chair, stalking over to Shawn's desk. “It wasn't self-defense. He was swinging that shovel at you.”

“And you stopped him. What do you want me to say? That I'm grateful? And a little freaked out?”

“I don't know!”

“Then why are you on my back about talking about it?”

“Because that's the mature thing to do, Shawn. When one adult makes a grand, sweeping—”

“—and, might I add, really gory and disturbing—” Shawn pipes in. 

“—gesture for another adult, they talk about it.”

“You're absolutely right, Gus. We're adults; we should do the adult thing.” Shawn downs the rest of the Mexican Coke on his desk. “Or we could close the office early and play spin the bottle.”

Gus plucks the empty bottle from Shawn's hand. “I'll lock the door.”

Shawn slaps Gus' ass on his way to the door. “That's the Burton Guster we know and love.”


End file.
